I thought,
I was impervious, armor
in place, attached to detachment
my pesky synapses
melted away in
a gray soup

protected,
pain exempt...
but ****, you  
come to me
in dreams

in Morpheus grip
you slip in, those menacing faces
I managed to block, return
to mock me

the jeers to which
I made myself deaf, are now soprano, alto, bass
in my nocturnal symphony

those who malign me
are free to walk on my grave:
to them and all others I am
but slumbering slave

I can not choose
when to wake, to end your reign
but if I could, you would then skulk  
a bit in my skull's dark den
waiting for my weary eyes
to close again